Across the Derbyverse
by SandWitch42
Summary: Something is killing the most unlikely of victims: roller derby skaters. Sam and Dean travel to northern Texas on a hunt where they learn about a monster they've never hunted before and a sport they've never watched before.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello, Readers! :) First, I want to thank you for reading my story. You're the best! Now then, if you don't know anything about roller derby, there may be a few things in this story that you might not understand. Fear not! Roller derby is the fastest-growing sport in the world right now. Chances are, there is a team somewhere near you, particularly if you are in North America or Europe (there are also teams in Japan and Australia). I highly encourage you to reach out to your nearest league, find out this season's schedule (or next, if it's off-season), and attend a bout. Anyone in attendance will be more than happy to explain the sport in real time.**

 _Amarillo, Texas_

 _Saturday_

The last few musical bars and vocal squeals of a karaoke version of the B-52's 'Love Shack' reverberated through a crowded bar. A trio of half-drunk young women threw their arms in the air and around each others' shoulders as other party-goers cheered. Two of the women wore matching green and white sports jerseys while the third wore purple and black. All of them were laughing as they bounced down the two stairs off of the small stage to allow another woman in the same green and white to take their place at the microphone. Her short, platinum spikes took on the same hue of the stage lights as the colors flashed in rotation.

"How're ya'll doing!?" Her question was met with loud whoops and applause. "Thank ya'll so much for coming out! I'm Mom-U-Mental, captain of the Amarillo Annihilators, and our league wants to extend an extra-special thank you to the skaters and officials of Plainview Roller Derby who came up to bout with us tonight!" She paused to allow another round of applause and for the various women in the two different colored jerseys to hug and high five each other and to cheer each other with their drinks in hand. "We got another song queued up, but nobody's taking the stage 'cause everybody knows this one. We're just gonna pass the mic around!" With that, the opening notes of Journey's 'Don't Stop Believin'' played through the speakers to a reaction of more cheers and a smaller sound of good-natured groans.

"Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world," Mom-U-Mental began as she descended the stairs to hand the microphone to a woman in a purple and black Plainview jersey.

"She took a midnight train goin' anyyywhereee!" The microphone was passed again.

"Just a city boy." Another face leaned in, and the two sang together. "Born an' raised in South Detroit. He took a midnight train goin' anyyywhereee!"

The microphone was passed and passed among women as varied as there were individuals. Short, average, tall. Slender, athletic, more to love. Some had shaved heads, some had long braids. Some kept their hair natural blonde, brunette, black, or red; others had theirs dyed in rainbows of color. Intermixed through the sportswomen were the officials who worked the game and fans who had watched and then come to the bar to enjoy the afterparty. The microphone got passed among them as well. Almost everyone was singing, whether the microphone was in front of them or not, and the sound swelled inside the bar.

One woman wearing the green and white of Amarillo was holding the microphone for herself and two others, "Street lights! Peeoopuhh..." She faded off with a soft, "Oh." Her eyes lost focus. The microphone slipped from between slack fingers and hit the floor, sending feedback through the speakers. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed.

"Oh shit! Polly!" A redheaded woman tried to catch her as she went down. More voices faltered as other women throughout the room dropped. The singing was replaced with panicked voices, crying out to one another.

The music came to an abrupt halt as one woman suddenly shouted out, "Oh my god, she's dead!" A chorus of shocked sounds turned to fear as one downed woman after another was pronounced dead. Demands for someone to call an ambulance, call the police, call for help, any help, filled the room.

Out in the warm night, the red neon light proclaiming the name of the bar - **Francisco's** \- flashed off and on merrily while sounds of terror floated from the doorway. In the distance, the soft wail of sirens could be heard coming ever nearer.

.oOo.

 **Supernatural**

.oOo.

 _Maryland_

 _Sunday_

The middle-aged waitress carefully unloaded her arms of plates onto the table. Fried eggs, hashbrowns, a stack of pancakes, and extra bacon in front of Dean, and a veggie omelette in front of Sam. She smiled at the brothers. "Can I get you guys more coffee?" she offered sweetly. Her cap of short, light brown ringlets framed a soft, slightly plump face with kind, brown eyes wearing blue eyeshadow that had seen its heyday in late, 1980s music videos. Dean already had a mouthful of eggs and hashbrowns, so it fell on Sam to answer.

"No, thank you." He offered a polite smile in return to hers.

"Alright, Honey. You let me know if I can get you guys anything else." She walked away, pulling her note pad and pen out of her apron and turned her attention to a table with new patrons who had just settled into their chairs.

Dean lifted the maple syrup and poured a heavy drizzle over his stack of pancakes. "Whatcha got for us, Sammy?"

"Something weird in Amarillo, Texas," Sam replied. He looked down at his laptop, eyes scanning the news page he had pulled up on the screen.

"Weird, how?" Dean's voice was muffled by the mouthful of pancakes.

"Bunch of people dropping dead at a bar, weird," Sam replied, ignoring the sound of food smacking around in Dean's mouth as he spoke. He really ought to be used to it by now, but he still thought it was gross when his big brother talked with his mouth full.

"Lay it on me." Dean sipped his coffee and continued tucking into his breakfast.

"According to the news article, 'As is customary after their bout -the roller derby term for 'game'- the Amarillo Annihilators hosted an after party for the visiting team, Plainville Roller Derby, and all of their fans at the local bar, Francisco's. Celebration turned to terror as several skaters from both teams suddenly collapsed and died. Police did not release the cause of death.'" Finishing the quote, Sam forked a bite of omelette into his mouth. He looked across the table and waited for Dean's response.

Dean stuffed his bite of half-chewed food into one cheek so he could speak; well, it was better than nothing. "Can't be something simple, like a gas leak, can it?"

"Nm-mm," Sam shook his head and finished his bite before answering. "The only people affected were the skaters. None of the fans, and none of the regulars at the bar. And, get this, it was exactly six skaters from each team."

"Alright. That's weird enough for me." Dean bit into a slice of bacon and used the rest of the strip of meat still gripped between his fingers to motion to the food in front of him. "Let's finish breakfast, though. Too much of this needs a fork to get it to go."

Sam nodded his agreement and took another bite of his omelette.

"So, roller derby, huh?" Another sip of coffee cleared Dean's mouth. He took on a confused expression. "That's the game where they punch each other, right?"

.oOo.

 _Amarillo, Texas_

 _Monday_

It had been a long drive to Texas. Dean had gotten some little sleep after he and Sam had switched places behind the wheel of the Impala, but his eyes had felt grainy when they checked into the hotel after lunch. Sam hadn't argued when Dean proclaimed the need for a few more hours of rest before getting to the job. At the least, it was enough to not make him feel like death. The same couldn't be said for the corpse laying in front of them on the mortuary stretcher sticking from the cabinet in the wall.

"So what's the official cause of death?" he asked the coroner.

Brown eyes slowly lifted to Dean's light green. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, making the stern look on her face even more severe. "You didn't read the report." It wasn't a question.

"I like to hear it out loud," Dean countered. Of course, faking as FBI agents meant they hadn't received a report to read. God knew he would have liked to have that sort of access; it would make situations like this much easier.

The coroner sighed heavily. "Right. Amber Sheldon," she looked down at the corpse and back up. "Is one of four who've been autopsied thus far. All bodies have revealed the same thing."

"Which is...?" Dean prompted.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"They were all healthy, particularly Amber here. She didn't even smoke or drink. Strong, active; her organs were in great condition until..." she spread her hands to offer up the fact the woman laying on the slab was currently less than healthy and very dead.

"So you're telling us..."

"I'm telling you we can't determine a cause of death yet. Her entire body shut down, like it was simply done working. With the extensive liver damage in one of her friends, I was almost tempted to blame acute liver failure -if only to have _something_ -, but we know the same thing happened to all of them. I'm not going to label the cause of death to be different for one than for another. So I have to keep digging, no pun intended."

Dean looked over at Sam, who had been silent after introducing himself. He could practically see the gears turning in his brother's mind as he stared down at the pale corpse. "You got anything to add?" Sam glanced up at the question.

"Yeah," he graced his finger across multiple dots of bruises on the body's upper arm. "These bruises... they look like fingerprints. Is there any history of domestic violence?"

"More like a history of roller derby," the coroner answered. "You're right; they are from fingertips, but it's nothing to worry over. They came from playing a full-contact sport. All of these bodies have at least a few bruises, some more than a few." Sam nodded. "Now, Agents, If you don't mind, I have eight more bodies to examine this evening. If there's nothing else...?"

"No, I think that'll do it," Dean replied. "Thank you for your time."

.oOo.

 _Tuesday_

 _Bing-bong_

The brothers stood in front of a white storm door on the front porch of a one story brick house. White pillars made of metal scrollwork held up the awning, shading them from the late morning sunlight. Dean's hand dropped from the door bell, and he glanced at Sam as they waited for someone to answer. They did not wait long. The inside door swung open to reveal a young woman with chin-length black and purple hair. Her dark hazel eyes were puffy, showing that she had been recently crying.

"Erin Weatherfield?" Sam inquired.

The woman shook her head and opened the door further to reveal a living room beyond the foyer where she was standing. A young brunette woman was on the denim couch, bundled tightly in a red and black plaid blanket, rocking to and fro, and staring at nothing.

"I'm her girlfriend, Crystal Morris. Do you need something?" Crystal's voice was thick with tears and slightly hostile.

"I'm Special Agent Balin," Dean replied, slipping a hand into his jacket to the inner breast pocket in order to withdraw his fake badge. Sam was quick to follow suit, reaching for his as well. "This is my partner, Special Agent Kantner." They held open the badges long enough for Crystal to examine both, then they tucked them away. Dean continued, "We'd like to speak to Erin about-"

"Sshh!" Crystal hissed, opening the storm door. She lowered her voice. "I know what about. And I'll let ya'll talk to her." She eyed both of them with a fierce expression. "But ya'll **better** be real careful." Her gaze and voice both softened as she spared a glance over her shoulder. "She's broken."

Crystal motioned the brothers inside and shuffled away from the door, making her way into the living room with a hobble. Dean noticed her left ankle was weighted down by a large medical boot that reached almost to her knee. She carefully maneuvered herself to the couch next to Erin and sat down. "Erin? Baby? There's Feds here wantin' to talk to you. Erin?" She had to place her hand on Erin's shoulder to stop the rocking. Only then did Erin look at her.

"To me?" Erin's voice sounded hollow.

"Yes, Baby, to you. You think you're up for it?"

Erin turned her gaze to Sam and Dean as they settled onto a matching denim love seat which sat opposite the couch with a funky, guitar pick-shaped coffee table between them. She stayed quiet, only blinking at them. Dean took her silence as consent to begin. "We understand you were at Francisco's Saturday night."

Her eyes flooded with tears, and she managed only a scant nod as she drew the blanket around herself even tighter.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Sam asked softly. Dean spared him a quick glance and looked again at the two women on the couch across from them.

The tears fell freely, and for a few moments, it seemed she would not speak at all. When she did, her words were choppy, as though she had to think in the middle of her sentences. "They just... died... We were partying... having fun... And they all... just... died."

"Did you notice anything strange?" Dean started with the normal questions.

Crystal spoke up, her top lip curling into an angry snarl, "You mean aside from half our team dropping dead at our feet?"

"Cold spots?" Sam prompted, pulling her pissed off expression away from Dean. "Flashing lights?"

"It was hot and sweaty," Crystal replied with annoyance. "Have you ever even been to a bar? There were too many people for it to be cold. And the only flashing lights were the stage lights; they're supposed to flash."

"Wait, you were there?" Dean leaned forward, propping his forearms against his knees.

"Of course I was there. Just 'cause I did _this_ to myself," she motioned to her booted foot, "don't mean I can't go out and support my team."

"You were there," Erin whispered, her eyes losing focus and glazing over. "It could have been anyone, and you were there. It could have been you." Her voice broke. "Oh God, it could have been you. It could have been you. You were there." Erin's panic climaxed into sobs that wracked her body as she flung open the blanket to free her arms and threw herself at Crystal, gripping her shirt and repeating her fears between breaths in a voice muffled from being pressed against Crystal's chest.

Crystal's arms enveloped her girlfriend as she softly petted tangled, unbrushed brown hair and gently rocked back and forth. She cooed under her breath, whispering reassurances. As Erin calmed enough to quiet -if not stop- her crying, Crystal continued to rock her and lifted her chin to send a hard glare at the brothers. "I'm giving her a Xanax and putting her to bed. She's done talking."

Sam nodded, and Dean held his hands slightly in front of himself, palms out, to show he had no argument. They watched as Crystal stood from the couch and, balancing her weight on her good leg, slipped her hands under Erin's armpits to heft the smaller girl to her feet. Bundled in her blanket as she had been, Dean hadn't realized just how little she was, but when she stood, he saw she was at least a foot shorter than her girlfriend.

"C'mon, Baby. I can't carry you right now; you're gonna have to walk with me, okay?"

Dean waited as Crystal coaxed Erin out of the room and around the corner before standing up and making his way across the room to a wall bedecked with framed pictures and small shelves lined with colorful, home made trinkets. There was a blue plastic pony glued to a neon green wheel with "MVJ" written in blue puff paint; a ribbon and garland fairy wand with small, wooden letters painted in gold and spelling JAM as the topper; a Barbie propped in a doll stand, her body painted with the green Amarillo jersey, and a pink wheel glued between her hands with "MVP Jammer" written across it in black marker; a kid-sized roller skate covered with green glitter and a little plaque propped against it reading "Most Inspirational." Dean let his eyes wander to the photos as Sam stepped up behind his shoulder to look at the decor on the wall as well.

One photo was of a group shot of serious-looking roller skaters in green jerseys, probably an official team photo, Dean surmised. Others were of various smaller groups of the same women, all of them looking pleased to be in each others' company. In one, five of them were toasting their drinks to the camera, their mouths all open in shouts. Another was taken from behind two helmeted women, capturing the white names and numbers on the backs of their green jerseys. The Dark Crystal, 82, was on the left, her arm draped over the shoulders of the much shorter Dumbldorable, 596, whose brown pigtails peeked down from both sides of her black helmet.

Dean pointed to the picture. "The happy couple," he said.

"That's the most recent picture I've put on that wall," came Crystal's voice behind them, turning their heads to face her. She hobbled forward, the boot slowing her down. "That was the day I jacked up my ankle."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Ugh." Crystal looked down at the boot in disgust and sank onto the couch next to the vacated blanket. "The bout was almost over. We were ahead by enough that we knew we were gonna win. I got cocky, decided to showboat a little. So I jumped the apex. It was sloppy; I didn't land it right, and I crashed inta' one of my own team mates. We both fell, my ankle twisted, and she landed on it. Doctor said it woulda been better had it just broken, that it would heal better." She shook her head as she finished her explaination.

Dean cocked his head, knowing confusion was painted across his face. "You jumped the what?" He exchanged a glance with Sam, and when he looked back at Crystal, her expression had changed from moody to amused.

"Do ya'll..." her eyes bounced back and forth between the brothers. "Do ya'll know anything about roller derby?"

The brothers looked at each other again and once more at Crystal. A twin of shrugs was their only response to her. She quirked an eyebrow.

.oOo.

"Well that was informative," Dean stated as he dropped into the driver's seat of the Impala. "I learned more about this sport than I did about what the hell could have killed twelve people without touching them." He huffed irritably as he closed his door; Sam also entered on his side of the car. "So who's next on the list?"

Sam lifted his pad of paper and eyed the list, "Shaneice Williams, or according to Crystal, Lt. uHURTa."

"Referencing..." Dean drew out the end of the word as he thought.

"Star Trek."

"Star Trek," he spoke over Sam's reply. He knew the answer; it just hadn't come right away. Nyota Uhura was the hot one who wore that tiny dress. Dean could remember watching Star Trek: The Original Series on many a crappy hotel television while growing up, and remembering how much he enjoyed Lt. Uhura's legs put a small smile on his face.

"And after that," Sam cut into his reminiscing. "There's Teresa Bevins, aka Carmelita Beat'cha."

"Carmelita Beat'cha? Like, _the_ Carmelita? Of _Casa Erotica_ fame? _Muy caliente_ ," Dean perked up even more. "Let's skip the nerd for now. I wanna meet the chick who named herself after the porn star I screw-"

"OKAY," Sam cut in.

Dean smirked, put the car into drive, and started out of the neighborhood. "Point the way."


	2. Chapter 2

A bright turquoise door swung open to reveal a tall woman with a mass of natural red curls nestled around broad shoulders. She was a heavy lady, curved along every part of her body. Her plump face held a smattering of orange freckles, and sadness in her light, honey brown eyes gave lie to the warm smile she offered upon confirming her identification. "Yes, I'm Theresa Bevins."

"Good afternoon," Sam began. He introduced himself and Dean with their aliases, Kantner and Balin, and glanced at Dean as they both tucked away their FBI badges. He wanted to gauge Dean's reaction without staring. This girl looked nothing like her namesake, a woman Dean knew very intimately. Dean's face had gone poker-still, and Sam knew he was hiding disappointment. The real Carmelita was a knockout blonde with a slender body built for showing off, which she surely did in her handful of movies. Teresa, on the other hand, though she had a pretty face, was wide and full and did not fall into Dean's regular tastes.

"Oh, I suppose you're here to talk about what happened Saturday. Come in, come in." Teresa lead them into her dining room, red curls bouncing with each step. She motioned to a white painted, square top dining table and took her own seat where a glass of iced coffee -complete with coffee ice cubes and a straw- sat sweating on a cork coaster next to an open Sudoku book on a lace-trimmed powder blue placemat with a pencil laying in the spine. As Sam settled himself into the chair across from her, he noted the word "Expert" printed in small letters at the bottom of the page and that more than half of the puzzle had already been solved.

"So what can you tell us about that night?" Dean jumped right into the questioning, pulling Sam's attention away from the little book.

"Really, I don't know what more I could tell you that I didn't already tell the local police," Teresa replied, fiddling the pencil between her fingers.

"Why don't you start with what you told them and see if anything else comes to you," Sam suggested. Teresa nodded and put her eyes on the pencil she was holding instead of either brother.

"The after party was only just starting to get jumped up. We were all partying, you know? Singing, dancing, drinking, just having a good time. Next thing I knew..."

 _"Oh shit! Polly!"_

"...Polly PicassHoe had the mic. We were singing together. And she just... died." Teresa looked up from the pencil and fixed her brown eyes on Dean. "Nothing else really happened. One moment, she was upright, singing; the next, she was falling. I tried to catch her. At first, I thought that maybe she had passed out from drinking too much. But then, well, all the other skaters were falling too, so..." She trailed off and looked down at her pencil again.

"Did you happen to see any black smoke anywhere?" Dean asked.

"Black smoke?" Teresa repeated, bringing up her gaze again. "Like from a fire? No."

"Bad smells?" Dean tried. "Like sulfur or rotten eggs?"

Teresa barked a laugh, "You've never been around derby girls after a bout, have you?" Her eyes flicked from Dean to Sam and back again. When they didn't answer, she filled them in. "Damn right it smelled bad. Though the running joke is we smell like soggy Frito pie, not sulfur."

"Forgive me for saying, Teresa," Sam put in, trying hard to smother his expression of disgust at her words. "But you don't seem as broken up about this as other skaters we've talked to." That brought her gaze back to Sam.

"No, I would assume not." Her amused smile turned into the sad one she was wearing when they arrived, and as she spoke more, it faded completely. "Truth be told, I didn't know Polly very well, or any of the others who died. See, I just passed my assessment to be a rostered skater not too long ago; this was only my second bout. I've been training with them, sure, but all six of them were so head and shoulders above where I am, skills-wise. Without a doubt, they were the best skaters on our team. I guess it was intimidating to talk to them. I'm... kinda shy, actually."

"Shy?" Dean asked. "Your skater name is based on porn star, and you're _shy_?"

Teresa stared at her pencil again and blushed so deeply, her orange freckles almost looked brown. Sam cleared his throat, gave Dean a meaningful glare, and slid his chair back as he stood. Dean took his hint and lifted to his feet as well. "Thank you for your time, Teresa," Sam said. "We'll see ourselves out."

"It's different on the track," Teresa murmured as they turned to leave. They stopped and looked back as she mumbled at the twirling pencil. "When I have skates on, when I'm out there, I feel so... strong, empowered... sexy. And I can't think of anyone sexier than Carmelita."

Dean grinned, " _Si_."

"You could see for yourself, you know," Teresa kept her eyes fixed on the pencil fiddling between her fingers.

"What do you mean?" asked Sam.

"Tip Top Texas Rollers are hosting a black and white scrimmage tomorrow." She looked up again, avoiding Dean's eyes and staring hard at Sam. "You could go. Though I'm not sure how many people will actually show; it was pretty hastily thrown together as a fund raiser. All the skater and spectator fees, plus whatever donations people want to chip in, it's all going to the families of the skaters who passed on Saturday."

Dean's voice matched the surprise on his face. "Really."

"Well sure," Teresa answered Dean but still wouldn't look at him, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the taller brother. Sam supposed her embarrassment lingered. "Derby has a really tight-knit community. Even if we don't know each other personally, we all take care of one another. We're like a world-wide family."

Sam looked over and caught Dean's eye. He wondered if his brother was also remembering Bobby's comment those many years ago: _"Family don't end with blood."_

Once the turquoise door was closed behind them, and they were walking along a flower-lined walkway back to the car, Sam spoke up, "So I guess we're going out to watch some roller derby tomorrow."

Dean opened his arms and shoulders in a shrug. He glanced up and down the road before crossing, but the quiet neighborhood street was empty of moving traffic. "Maybe we'll get something useful out of someone there. It's not like we got anything good out of any of these girls."

"We got more out of her than the first two," Sam replied.

Dean paused with his hand gripping the handle of the car door. "We did?"

"Yeah, we did." Sam walked around to the other side of the car. "Teresa said the six Amarillo skaters who died were the best on the team. I bet the six on the Plainview team were their best too." They both climbed into the Impala, closing the squeaky doors with a twin of slams to hide away Dean's next statement.

"So we have a monster that not only kills roller derby skaters, but it makes sure to target only the best on a team?" His brow furrowed. "Yeah, we're going to the scrimmage tomorrow."

"And in the meantime?" Sam inquired. "What do you want to do?"

"Same thing you do every night, Pinky." Dean grinned over at Sam as he turned the key in the ignition and the car's engine roared to life. "Research."

.oOo.

 **Author's Note: This scene kinda wrote itself out as a montage while I was driving, and it played as a scene on the screen rather than in story form. Enjoy!**

 _Musical Montage – Stroke 9 "Kick Some Ass"_

Inside a small hotel room, Sam sits at a small, wooden table, shoved against a window right next to the door. Blue-on-blue drapes hang at the window next to his shoulder as he types at his laptop. On the other side of the screen sits empty food wrappings: a plastic container still coated with remnants of salad dressing and bits of shredded carrots with a plastic fork in the bottom and wadded wrappers from cheeseburgers next to an empty french fry box. Dean is sitting at the foot of the bed closest to Sam, a beer in his hand. He says something to Sam. Sam leans back in his chair and points at the screen with the lip of his beer as he answers. Dean joins him at the table and props his left hand on the back of the chair as he leans down to look at the screen.

Closeup of the laptop: Tip Top Texas Rollers official page. There is a picture of a roller skater wearing a white jersey with blue and red details. She is crouched low, one leg stretched out as though she is in the middle of a stride. A white cover with a blue-trimmed star that looks like the flag of Texas is on her helmet. The cursor on the screen skims to "Upcoming Events" and clicks. The page refreshes to show "Support Amarillo and Plainview with Triple-T R" at the top of the page.

The brothers look at each other and back down at the screen with interest. Sam speaks. Dean answers.

Dean is pacing the only empty floor space available in the small room, across dark grey carpeting from the foot of one bed to the other, flipping an empty beer bottle -bottom over neck- in his right hand. Sam is still at the little table with his laptop. A few empty beer bottles have joined the food wrappers. The brothers are talking to each other. Sam references his screen as he answers Dean's comments.

Dean is laying perpendicular across the center of a blue-on-beige bedspread, his legs bent, feet on the floor. His hands are folded across his stomach, and he's staring at the ceiling as Sam talks. He lifts his head to look at his brother. Sam points to the side of his head as he's talking, drawing a star shape, and then at his forehead and draws an invisible line across the top of his head, from his forehead to the back of his head.

Dean is standing behind Sam again, both of them staring with amazement at the screen.

On the screen is bout footage. A skater in pink slams hard into a skater in purple, knocking her well out of the boundary the track.

The brothers both flinch back a little, their mouths falling open in what would be loud "Oh!" with Dean's fist coming up to his grinning mouth and Sam's hand pointing at the screen. He says something. Dean moves his hand from his smile to reply.

Both brothers are on their feet, side by side, both of them crouched with their legs almost touching each other. Sam is pointing at the sliver of space between them, his face intent as he is talking. Without warning, Dean dips lower, swings his hips at Sam, and slams into his thigh, staggering Sam into the open space between the beds. Dean laughs, but it is cut short as Sam regains his balance and returns the favor, knocking Dean sideways.

 _Music fades with next scene..._

Sam and Dean sat on their respective beds, facing each other. Dean was closer to the head of his bed, Sam was closer to the foot of his, keeping their knees from bumping. "Well, we still have no idea what kind of monster we're dealing with," Dean said. Sam nodded silently. "But at least we won't be asking dumbass questions tomorrow."

"Right," agreed Sam. "So we'll be able to focus on the job."

.oOo.

 _Wednesday_

A whoosh of cool air swirled around Dean as he opened the glass door to Round the World, the local skating rink, and stepped inside, holding the door just long enough for Sam to take it and hold it open for himself. Behind them, the sun was beginning to set. In the brightly lit foyer of the building, a very attractive young woman wearing a revealing white tank with bold, red letters reading TTTR across her ample breasts sat at a table with papers across it. The right side of her head was buzzed short and dyed in leopard spots; the rest of her hair was a brilliant red, combed and styled to cup the left side of her face, the ends gracing her chin. Dean gave her an apprasing look as he stepped forward with a swagger. She looked up at him with grey-ish green eyes enhanced with brown and gold eyeshadow and brown mascara. A pair of silver hoops adorned either side of her bottom lip, and her red lipsticked smile took in both brothers.

"Welcome! Ya'll NSOin'?"

Dean stopped short and shared a confused glance with Sam before looking back down at the seated woman. "Uh... No, I don't... um.. I don't think we are En Ess... Owing?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Her eyes flicked down to their empty hands and back up to their faces. "I saw ya'll weren't carryin' skate bags, so I thought you'd be officials. Ya'll here to watch, then?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, we're here to watch." Dean was still appreciating the view before him.

"Five each, please." She penned two tally marks on the paper in front of her, under a column labeled "Spectators" and used the pen in her hand to tap on a large coffee can painted with the Texas flag. "We're also requestin' any extra donations you'd be willin' to give. All the proceeds and donations tonight are goin' to the families of the skaters who passed away on Saturday."

Dean dug a ten dollar bill out of his wallet as she was talking and handed it to her. As she accepted it, he noticed a chunky blue cast encasing her left wrist.

"Man, derby's a rough sport, ain't it?"

She waved the cast in front of herself with a small laugh, "You mean this?" She tucked the bill neatly into the cash box at her elbow. "This happened at work. Honestly, I'd rather have a cool derby story to explain it. Still. It has me off skates 'til it comes off and I can put a wrist guard on again. Only a couple more weeks."

Sam, meanwhile, also flipped his own wallet open and stuffed a few bills into the coffee can. Dean didn't see how much, and he doubted the cutie on the other side of the table saw either. Even so, she favored Sam with an even bigger grin and an enthusiastic, "Thanks!" She then ripped two neon orange wrist bands free from a sheet of them and proffered one to Sam first. "These'll get you in and out of the buildin' for the rest of the evenin', plus it'll show anyone inside that you've paid."

"Thank you," Sam waited until Dean's wrist band was in place as well then started for the next set of doors that lead into the building. Dean lingered.

"What was your name again?"

"I didn't tell you my name," she replied with a sly smile.

"I'd like it very much if you did." He favored her with his own smile that usually started with a phone number and ended with a lot more.

"Death Leppard." Dean stared at the lip rings lustily as the name left her mouth. The moment she spoke, Dean was pulled sideways by Sam yanking on his sleeve.

"Dean. We're here for a reason."

"Alright, alright." Dean shook Sam's hand off of his arm and followed his little brother the few steps to the inner doors. He chanced a glance back at Death Leppard and got a nice boost of ego when he saw her looking at his butt. She let her eyes trail up his body to his face, making no attempt to hide what she had been doing. They smiled at each other again, and Dean sauntered through the doorway, making a mental note to get her number before they left.

Through the doorway, the main room of the skating rink was filled with people, the majority of whom were women, Dean noticed to his delight. Most of them were wearing either a black or white top, whether a t-shirt, tank top, or team jersey. There was also a sprinkling of referrees in black and white stripes inside and around the track. A bout was already in progress, skaters in white battling against skaters in black. People -on skates and off- were lined up along the barrier between the track and general walking area to watch and cheer. More were clustered in the snack bar. Even more were in a seating area of folding metal chairs set up on the rink floor, at the end of the track. Yellow and black striped tape sectioned off the area, and pieces of paper with bold "SUICIDE SEATING – 18 AND OVER" lettering were taped to every few chairs in the front row. Just about everyone was in some various state of gear; very few were spectators like themselves.

A barage of whistling filled the room. _Tweet-tweet-tweet-tweet!_ It started with one person's whistle but was echoed by several more. The jam was over. Skaters left the track and skated to their respective benches, replaced by nine more. One blocker in black was sitting in the penalty box with two people in pink sitting in chairs behind her. Dean was beginning to feel thankful of Sam's insitence on a crash course in roller derby the night before, but he was certain they had missed something.

"Five seconds!" Another pink person had a hand in the air, a stopwatch in his other hand, and a whistle in his mouth. _Tweet!_ His hand flew down at the sound of the whistle. As the jam started, Dean tapped the arm of the nearest woman who, according to the back of her black jersey, was named J.R.R. Tokin'.

The green helmet adorned with stickers reading '420' across it tilted up. "The folks in the pink shirts," he said when she fixed dark brown, almost black, eyes on him. "Who are they?"

"The NSO's," she answered. "Non-skating officials. They do stuff like jam timing," she pointed to the one who had just blown his whistle and was now doing nothing other than staring at his stop watch. "Penalty box timing," she pointed to the penalty box. "Score keeping," her hand dropped to her side. "Well, it's just scrimmages, so we're not keeping official score tonight. This your first time?"

"Live, yes," Sam answered from the other side of Dean. "We've seen videos, though, and wanted to come check it out for ourselves."

Tokin' grinned, her tilted eyes glittering above a wide, slightly flattened nose, "Then what you really need to do is hit up a real bout. Most of us don't scrim as hard as we bout."

"I hear some teams party hard after the bout," Dean answered. "A little too hard, maybe."

"Yeah, I hear the same." Her round, tan face took on a sad expression. "I guess that's really why we're all here tonight, huh?"

"Do you know what happened?" Sam leaned his forearms down onto the barrier so he could better see around Dean. It made him have to look up at Tokin'. Her wrist guards clicked as she set her hands on the barrier to lean a little forward also. Dean eased back so he could observe them as they talked.

"Not really, no." Her black ponytail slithered on her shoulder as she shook her head. "I'm from Colorado. We've bouted against Amarillo a few times, so I wanted to come tonight. Word is, they took a hard hit. Their Captain was one of the ones who died. Same with PRD. And with so many of their star skaters gone, it's going to take a while for both teams to build back up." She looked back out at the track as the action brought the skaters around to the straightaway closest to them. Dean and Sam turned to look too.

A trio of white blockers were very successfully holding back a black jammer as a black blocker tried to disrupt them but was being thwarted by a fourth white blocker. Two more black blockers were in the front of everything, but they didn't seem to be doing much more than waiting for the white jammer to come back around. The white blocker guided the lone black blocker to the outside line and knocked her out of bounds. She immediately popped up onto her toe stops and ran in the opposite direction of the rest of the skaters. The black blocker skated on the outside of the track, following the white blocker, and re-entered the track behind her.

 _Tweet!_ "Black four-zero-four! Cutting!" The referee who made the call, Skuld, according to her striped jersey, crossed her arms out in front of herself in a big X then pointed her finger with a broad gesture of her arm. The black blocker threw her head back in frustration and left the track, booking it to the penalty box as quickly as she could. The white blocker high-fived one of her team mates who had also run back; a white blocker the black blocker hadn't noticed and re-entered in front of. The two of them hastened to rejoin the action in the pack as it rounded the next turn and away from them. Skuld, the ref, stayed with the pack, helmet swiveling, the wings painted on the sides catching reflections of the lights, as she intently eyed the skaters in the pack to call more penalties.

"I couldn't imagine if the same happened to my team," Tokin' murmured.

Sam looked confused, "You mean _that_?" He pointed to the track.

"No. What? Forcing a track cut? That shit happens all the time. I mean losing all of our best skaters," she eyed Sam. "You don't stay focused very well, do you?"

Sam's mouth tightened into his typical fake smile when he is insulted, and he straightened to his full height. Dean smirked. _Tweet-tweet-tweet-tweet! Tweeeeee-ooooooo-eeeeep!_ Those watching the scrimmage let out a cheer, and the skaters on the track started hugging and high-fiving.

"Next one is in ten minutes," Tokin' said to Sam. "I'm up. You two sticking around?"

"You bet," Dean answered.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam and Dean practically hugged their spot beside the barrier as a veritable sea of skaters passed them in both directions. Everyone who had been on the track left it to make room for the next two black and white teams who were beginning to roll on the track together: warming up, stretching, and chatting. Sam noticed that the refs and NSOs all stayed in their respective places, though. The refs were gathered in the center of the track to talk amongst themselves, but none of them left.

"These names are cracking me up," Dean said, his eyes sweeping along the track with the skaters as they made their way around. "Hugh Jassmin, Licker Cabinet, Slamazon Warrior, Grateful Dread, _Sweet Baby Cheeses!_ Holy shit!" Dean let out a hearty laugh that Sam hadn't heard in a long time, and he couldn't help but join in the amusement.

"Have you seen how some of them have numbers that go with their names too?" Sam pointed at the referees and read off the names of those whose backs were toward them, "Shave It, 4L8R -for later-; Rink Master 4000; Skuld... huh, she doesn't have a number."

"Yeah, I saw a couple refs who don't have numbers," Dean replied with a shrug. "I guess they don't need 'em."

"For that matter, none of the NSOs seem to have names _or_ numbers," Sam said, shrugging also. He watched as the skaters were being instructed toward their benches. "Looks like they're getting started. C'mon, let's find someone else to interview."

When Dean didn't respond, Sam looked down at his brother. Dean's eyes were all for the tiny jammer starting for the black team. From this distance, Sam couldn't see her face very well. Her blonde braid was streaked with purple and red, and it hung in front of her shoulder, almost to her knees as she crouched at the sound of "Five seconds!" from the NSO with the stop watch. As soon as the first whistle blew, the white jammer slammed against the wall of black blockers. The black jammer edged toward the inside line, away from the action, and tapped one of her blockers who wasn't being engaged. That blocker surged ahead to knock a white blocker out of the way. Swiftly, the black jammer took the opening before it could be closed and ran on her wheels as she was chased by two other white blockers. One of them hung back to bridge the pack while the other swung in to slam into her, but she jumped back, avoiding the hit. The blocker went out of bounds, and the jammer kept going. _Tweet-tweet!_ A ref held up one finger and a thumb above his head and pointed with his other hand at the tiny jammer, following as she rounded the first turn, her pursuit abandoned.

"That was hot," Dean said. The jammer whizzed past them on the straightaway. Sam saw the back of her tanktop as Dean read it aloud, "Trixie Little Hobbit. Another Lord of the Rings fan."

"Are we learning something on this job?" Sam asked with a nudge.

"Okay, yeah," Dean batted his brother away without looking at him. "Nerds can be pretty hot."

Sam turned back to the scrimmage in time for the white jammer to escape the pack and for Trixie to re-enter it from the back. _Tweet!_ "White, three-two-one, multiplayer block!" Skuld shouted, clasped her hands together in front of her sternum, and then pointed broadly with her right hand. A white blocker, Final Countdown, dropped off the track and headed to the penalty box.

Trixie managed her way through the pack again, glanced back to see that the white jammer was about to enter the back of the pack, and tapped her own hips rapidly with her hands. The jam ref who had been following her blew his whistle. _Tweet-tweet-tweet-tweet!_ Everyone else with a whistle echoed the four whistle blast.

"Alright, Dean, first jam's over," Sam said. " _Now_ can we get back to the job?"

Time ticked by, punctuated sporatically with whistles blowing across the track. For their interviewees, they picked out skaters who weren't actively watching the scrimmages. They asked about what had been seen, what had been heard, what everybody knew from Saturday night. Every story was the same: sadness over the community losing twelve dynamite skaters, best wishes for the two teams and the families, and for those few in attendance who had actually been at Fransisco's, the general statement of "they just died where they stood." They also learned none of the deceased had enemies to speak of; all in all, this giant group of women were very supportive of each other.

"It's bizzare, dude," Dean said as he watched Poetic Injustice walk away to get ready for her turn on the track. She was older than the other skaters they had talked to -probably close to her early fifties, Sam guessed by the silver streaks she allowed to grow in her short, almost black spikes- but still had a strong, athletic body. She wore all of her pads and carried her skates and yellow helmet in her muscular arms. "I thought when you get a bunch of chicks together, they start getting catty."

Sam shrugged, uncertain how to respond. He looked down at the notepad he had pulled out of his back pocket. He scribbled a few more notes from what Injustice had told them, adding it to all the other notes collected from the interviews they had conducted. "Two of the refs out there -Skuld and Misha Ousside- were at the bar on Saturday," he said. "And as we've been talking to people, some more refs have shown up." He motioned to two men and a woman sitting together at the end of the track in the Suicide Seating area; they all wore black and white stripes. Dean looked where he was pointing. "So we can hope that when the next scrimmage starts, they're going to swap out, and we can talk to the to other two."

"And learn what, Sam?" Dean's question was heavy with exasperation. "That all twelve of the skaters 'just died'? That's all anyone has said. Do you really think two more people will tell us anything different?"

Sam sighed. He had no good arguement for Dean's question. "Alright," he ceded. "Then let's get out of here."

"Or..." Dean looked around with a gleam in his eyes. "Maybe we could stay for a while. The rules said every one of these girls are eighteen or better. Hell, even _you_ could find a date here."

Sam rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but Dean gave him a firm backhanded pat to the chest and spoke first. "C'mon, at the very least let's keep watching the scrimmages. I'm actually enjoying this."

Sam followed Dean to the Suicide Seating on the end of the rink. As they edged their way between rows of chairs, an already-seated skater turned to watch them.

"Ooohh, day-um! A snack _and_ an appetizer!" Dark brown eyes appraised them both, and a dazzling white smile stood out against smooth skin almost as dark as her eyes. "How you boys doin'?"

"Uh, good. We're good," Dean answered with a nod as he took a seat behind her. She nodded back.

"Alright, alright," and swung her eyes to Sam. "Mmm, lookit that long hair, baby. I bet it's as soft as it looks. You like gettin' it pulled on?"

Sam was taken aback at her forward question and stammered for a moment as he hesitated in dropping into his seat. He was saved from answering by a loud _**SSSKKTT**_ as another skater, fully geared, flew toward them and turned hard on the edges of her wheels into a hockey stop.

"MILF, you harrassin' folks again?" The question was light-hearted, asked with a laugh and a smile. Sam looked up at the newcomer. She reached up to remove her blue mouth guard to reveal braces with blue bands that matched the blue ponytail hanging from underneath her helmet which was so covered with stickers, Sam was uncertain what color it was. He had a fairly strong assumption it had started blue also. "Sorry, ya'll," she addressed the brothers. "Our dear Chocolate MILF just can't resist her some pretty white boys."

"And mosta'da time, they can't resist me neither!" MILF declared, still drinking in Sam's form.

"You signed up for the next one?" the standing skater asked MILF. "They only got about two minutes left." She thumbed over her shoulder at the skaters on the rink.

MILF glanced back at her, "Nah, I got here late. I'm in the last one." She turned to the brothers -to Sam- again. "Which means I get to enjoy this view for the next half hour."

"You're a mess," the blue mouthguard was clamped back into her mouth, and she skated away.

"Bite Marks," Dean read the name on her back as she left.

"Yeah, that girl... She a vampire nut, you know? Seen 'Twilight' one too many times if you ask me."

"And your name," Dean mused. "I take it you're a mom?"

"I am," MILF beamed proudly. "Got me two sweet babies. My mama's over, keepin' them right now, bless her. She knows how derby keeps me sane, so she makes sure I get to all the events I want."

"So everybody's names match their personalities or interests in some way?" Sam asked.

"For the mos' part, yeah." MILF turned a little further in her seat to face them, her tone changing from the overt flirting to something a little more serious. "See, derby attracts all sorts of folks. We all different. Some of us are moms, some are married, dating, single... we got nurses, EMTS, dentists; teachers, students, homemakers; some of 'em are waitresses, hairdressers, or in retail; there's folks in all sorts'a different religions and sexualities... An' then all you got to do is look around to see all the shapes an' sizes an' colors of skin. You want a meltin' pot? _This_ is where you find it. In derby. An' our names reflect that."

Sam looked thoughtful as he took in what she said. Dean's voice cut in, "Well, I guess it's too bad it's a women's-only sport."

MILF laughed, "Baby, you wanna play merby? They got men's teams too, just not as many."

Sam smirked; he knew Dean couldn't even stand in roller skates and had only spoken to have something to say. He decided to save face for Dean. "I think we'll just stick to watching for now." He looked at his watch. "Unfortunately, we can't stick around long enough to see you skate. Is there going to be another scrimmage happening soon?"

MILF lit up, "Nah, not a scim. But our B team is playin' Plainview this Saturday."

"Plainview?" Dean asked. "I thought they lost half their skaters."

"Half their A team," MILF corrected. "An' we thought their B team was gonna cancel our bout, but they decided they gonna press on. Strong girls; I dunno if I could do it."

.oOo.

Sam was a few steps ahead in the parking lot as Dean trailed behind, eyeing Death Leppard over his shoulder as he stuffed her phone number into his pocket. He lengthened his stride to reach his brother and clapped a hand to the taller man's shoulder. "Here you go again, Sammy, hurrying us out the door. What's up?"

Sam shook his head, "I just can't think in there, Dean." Dean dropped his hand.

"Yeah, I don't blame you. It was all that ass distracting you, wasn't it? Did you notice? Like, ninety-nine percent of those girls had nice, round, perfectly shaped..." He put his hands up in front of himself like he was holding a basketball. "You could just take a bite out of-"

"It's distracting out here too," Sam interrupted. Dean snickered, but Sam just sighed. "I don't know, man. I just feel like... like I'm missing something that's right in front of me."

"What?" Dean asked. He looked up at his brother, wondering what he had almost figured out.

"I'm not sure." They reached the car, and Sam leaned on the top of the passenger side, looking across at Dean. He looked intent, focused. "But I intend to find out."

.oOo.

 _Thursday_

Dean stood at the end of Sam's bed, looking down at the sprawled form of his brother. He dominated most of the mattress with his long limbs, and his face was half-buried in the pillow, the other half all but hidden under the mass of brown hair he refused to cut. Dean knew Sam hadn't slept much that night; he had spent the majority of the darkened hours either sitting at his laptop or pacing the room, deep in thought. Unfortunately, Dean now had to wake him, and he was loath to do so. He found himself still trying to protect his little brother at odd times and in odd ways. In this instance, he simply wanted to let Sammy sleep. Just a little while longer. Let him have the rest he needs. One corner of Dean's mouth tightened as he tried to push away the thought. Neither of them could afford for him to go soft.

"Rise and shine, Sammy." He slapped at the lump under the blanket that could only be one of Sam's large feet. Sam shifted and nuzzled further into the pillow. Dean slapped his foot again. Sam kicked at him. It was enough; Dean knew his brother was awake. "We got a call. More skaters kicked it last night."

That got Sam's attention better than slapping his foot had. He sat up in the bed, his hair making an unruly mane around his head. "Where? When? Was there a bout last night?"

"Negative," Dean answered. "It was at the skating rink, Round the World. It appears we left a little too early. Five skaters hit the ground shortly after the final whistle of the last scrimmage, and two other mysterious deaths were reported in town. It's already been connected that they were both derby skaters who attended -and participated in- the scrimmages."

Sam took a deep breath as he slid his legs sideways from under the blanket and dropped his feet to the floor. He ran his hands over and through his jumble of hair in an attempt to tame the locks. "Why seven this time?"

"I looked into that too." Dean moved away from the bed and sat himself at the small table. There, he lifted one of two Styrofoam cups of gas station coffee and took a sip. "I've already been in contact with Triple-T R's public relations rep. Wanna take a guess how many different leagues were represented at the scrim?"

"Seven."

"Eight, actually," Dean corrected.

"Eight? Then I don't..." Sam trailed off, slowly shaking his head. It was clear he wasn't fully awake yet.

"I have a theory." Dean sipped on his coffee again and set it back down on the table.

"Okay."

"Saturday: Amarillo versus Plainview. I got ahold of the rosters for both teams. Amarillo is a small league since most of the local talent flocks to Triple-T R. So Amarillo rostered only twelve skaters because that's all they had. Plainview, on the other hand, is a bigger league, big enough to have both an A and a B team. So they rostered a full fourteen. But because half of Amarillo was six skaters, it was only six that died from Plainview also."

"Uh huh..."

"Fast forward to last night. Skaters from eight leagues showed up, but one league only had one rep. You can't take half of one person without a huge mess, so she was safe. Next league had two skaters; you _can_ take half of that. So that meant none of the other leagues lost more than one person."

"So you're suggesting fairness? Same-same for everyone?"

Dean shrugged at Sam's questions and picked up his coffee again. "You got something better?"

If Sam had had something better, he would have woken Dean before he flopped himself into bed for the night. Since he hadn't, Dean knew he didn't have anything better, and he wasn't surprised when Sam changed the subject. "Wait, when you did get all of this information? What time is it?" Sam grabbed at the small clock sitting on the table between the beds. His eyes popped, and he scrambled to his feet, his t-shirt and boxers wrinkled from sleep. "Dean! Why did you let me sleep so late?"

"Obviously you needed it." Dean took another leisurely sip of his coffee. "Besides, where would you be rushing off to? You think you're gonna find some more clues that we haven't picked up yet?"

Sam hesitated, and when he couldn't find an answer, Dean lifted the other cup of coffee from the table and handed it to him. Sam accepted it with a sigh and sat back down on the bed.

"Tell me what you came up with last night," Dean directed. "You did have some lightbulb moment, didn't you?"

"Well..." Sam lifted his cup and breathed in the hot steam. He was stalling.

"Tell me," Dean repeated. He knew Sam had something. Otherwise, he would have passed outleep on his laptop, instead of taking himself to bed.

"It's not quite right, though," Sam argued. "I had a thought, but it was totally backwards. When it came to mind, I figured I was just too tired to keep thinking, so I went to bed."

Dean leaned back in his chair and waited for Sam to continue. It took Sam a moment to realize Dean wasn't going to say anything. He took his own taste of coffee before continuing.

"Valkyrie," he said finally.

"You mean the hot chicks with wings? Wearing armor, carrying swords and spears?"

"Not exactly. There is some lore that describes them like that, but it's newer, not as accurate. The original Norse valkyries were much more sinister. Some were depicted as using entrails of warriors to weave tapestries."

Dean grimaced into his coffee. "Lovely."

"Thing is, though, valkyries were the choosers of the slain. They'd scour battlefields for the fallen and take half of the dead to their god Odin in the hall of Valhala."

"Well, that works with my theory of halves."

"Yeah, until you consider the fact the people who are being chosen aren't 'the slain.' They're still very much alive until," Sam snapped his fingers, indicating the sudden deaths of the skaters. "Nobody dies in roller derby, so nobody should be chosen to go to Valhala."

"Battle," Dean said.

"What?"

"You said valkyries scour the battlefield. We talked to tons of these girls. Tell me they don't see their time on the track as a sort of battle."

"Then why would the best skaters be taken? Wouldn't it make more sense for the worst skaters to be killed off?"

"I'm trying here, Sammy."

"I know." Sam irritably pushed his hair back with one hand and sipped at his coffee. "Like I said, it's all backwards. There are wars being fought at any given time on this planet; why would a valkyrie be here, killing off talent instead of picking up the fallen?"

"Because it wants the best?" Dean's suggestion caused Sam to furrow his brow in thought. "Generally speaking, and with exceptions, the ones who die aren't exactly the best. Maybe it's just tired of the leavings; maybe Odin demanded better tributes; maybe they're just building numbers and aren't as picky as they used to be. I don't know."

"Actually... That could very well be it." Sam's eyebrows lifted and his brow smoothed as the thought struck him. "We've been preparing for the Apocalypse but haven't really given much thought to the fact other religions and their deities are being affected as well. Maybe they're doing whatever it takes to build their armies. Today, most wars are fought with men as the soldiers, but the Norse were just as likely to have women in battle as men. Odin could have recognized the fact that roller derby is dominated by strong women and sent a valkyrie to gather warriors; _strong, talented_ warriors." As he talked, Sam's tone got more energized. Dean attributed it more to the gathering certainty than the caffeine.

"So now what?" Dean asked.

"Now we have to figure out who the valkyrie is." Sam moved himself from the side of the bed to the second chair at the little table where he had left his laptop for the night. He set his coffee down and slid the laptop to himself.

"And how do we do that?" Dean inquired.

"Names."

"Names?"

Sam spoke as he typed. "Almost nobody in derby goes by their legal names. They all have skater names that show off their individuality. So all we have to do is compare all the names to..." he turned the laptop to Dean.

"' _Prose Edda'_?" Dean read at the top of the screen. He turned a confused face to Sam. "What's that?"

"Thirteenth century literature about Norse mythology. More specifically, in the first part, 'Glyfaginning,' there is a list of the valkyrie's names."

"How do you even know this crap?"

Sam turned the laptop back to himself, ignoring Dean's question. He scrolled down the page, eyes dancing over the words. Finally, he stopped and read out loud. "'I will recite the names of the valkyrie of Odin. Hrist, Mist, Herja, Hlökk, Geiravör, Göll, Hjörþrimul, Gunnr, Herfjötur, Skuld'..." He stopped and looked at Dean.

"No way. The ref?" Dean leaned over to see the screen for himself. Next to the text was a black and white image of a painting depicting beautiful winged women riding horses through the sky. Dean remembered with wings painted on the sides of Skuld's helmet.

"She didn't even bother hiding, not even by changing her name a little."

"Must've been confident no one would expect her to be a real valkyrie. But now that _we_ know... how do we gank her?"

.oOo.

Sam was hunched over with his elbows on the table, the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes, when the hotel door opened behind him. "Evening sustinance," came Dean's voice as the door closed. He felt Dean pass around him to the other side of the table and heard the rustle of a plastic bag as it was set down along with the clinking of glass bottles. "I'm going to guess you can't find her."

"No, I can't." Sam slid his hands off his face and turned the motion into pushing his hair back on the sides of his head as he lifted to sit up straight. The bag of food interested him way more than the six pack of beer. "I did find out she's one of Plainview's refs. I got a legal name from them, but it's a fake. 'Jane Dover' doesn't exist."

"Jane Dover? One syllable away from 'Jane Doe.' How original." Dean slid a beer from the cardboard carrier and popped off the metal cap. "Did you get an address from the league?"

"Yeah; the address they have on file is listed as unoccupied through county records, and I even checked on satellite imaging to see for myself. It's a decrepit, abandoned house with an overgrown yard. We can go check it out, but I doubt anyone has been there for a long time."

"So basically, all we can do is wait two days until the bout." Sam lowered his eyebrows in a questioning look at Dean's comment which prompted Dean to continue. "Your new girlfriend, Chocolate MILF, said she's playing against Plainview this weekend. Damn, man, maybe the little stoner girl was right; you don't focus very well."

"Like I said, it was distracting in there."

"And like I said: All. That. Ass."


	4. Chapter 4

_Saturday_

Standing in the hotel room, Dean rummaged through his olive-colored, canvas weapons bag. He pulled out his favorite Colt; the ivory grip felt comforting and familiar in his hand as he checked the magazine. He tucked it into the back of his waistband and reached back into the bag for Ruby's knife to tuck into his inner jacket pocket. "Doors open at six; first whistle at six-thirty, right?"

"Right," Sam replied. He, too, was bedecking himself with various weapons.

"And we still have no idea how we're gonna do this?"

"Dean, I read through everything I could find on valkyries, Skuld in particular. Get this: she and her two sisters aren't just valkyries. They're also called Norns. They're relatively similar to the three Fates of other mythologies in that they're the deciders of men's destinies. So while some few lesser valkyries were turned mortal by Odin, for some transgression or another, I don't think this one was. I think she's immortal."

"So we just attack and hope something works."

"Pretty much."

"Okay." Dean finished readying himself and zipped the bag. He grabbed up the handles with one hand and hitched it over his shoulder. He fixed Sam with a level gaze. "Then we'll take it all."

Sam nodded. He followed as Dean whirled around and strode out the door, wishing he had the same confidence his brother exuded.

.oOo.

They arrived at the two story sports complex in downtown Plainview an hour before the doors officially opened to the public. There was a small parking area at the south side of the building, next to the propped open double doors. It was filled with cars already, most with open doors and trunks as people buzzed back and forth between the cars and the building, carrying different items for setup. Most of them were wearing purple shirts emblazoned with the Plainvew Roller Derby logo. Dean pulled into the much larger parking lot across the street, at the southwest corner, finding a spot that allowed them a good view of the activity.

They watched for a moment, then Dean lead the way to get out of the car. Sam followed without a word; he knew Dean would want to walk the perimeter of the building and put eyes on every door, every window, every means of entrance or exit to the place. They walked at an angle across the parking lot, their direction putting them further away from the bustle at the southern wall, angling them toward the northwest corner of the building. Sam examined the west wall as they walked; there were no doors or windows on the first story, but there was a concrete staircase with a yellow-painted metal railing leading up to a door on the second story. The rest of the second story wall was flush with floor to ceiling windows. With the sun setting, the reflection of its rays kept Sam from seeing inside.

When they were adjacent to the northwest corner of the building, they crossed the street from the parking lot to the sports complex to look at the north side. As they crossed, Sam noted the entire second story wall held the same tall windows, from this angle, he could see a line of treadmills. They started passing sets of double doors on the first floor. One... two... three sets... each emblazoned with stickers that proclaimed them to be emergency exits, then a fourth, a single door, a few yards away from the northeast corner. Dean paused at this one and glanced at Sam. Sam noticed it had a narrow window latticed with thin wire. Dean leaned back against the door and rolled toward to window to peek through. He must not have been seen because his next motion was to try the handle. When it didn't open, he dropped to his knee at the handle and withdrew his lockpick set from his jeans. He looked up at Sam and jerked his head at the blind corner. Sam skirted around him and checked the east side of the building. There was activity at the far end, women carrying folding metal chairs from small sheds positioned opposite a walkway that rounded the building on the southeast corner but did not extend to the corner where he stood. He glanced back at Dean and gave a silent nod, showing Dean that he could proceed without fear of discovery.

.oOo.

Dean deftly slid the curved tip of his lockpick between his torsion wrench and the pins inside the lock and clicked the pins into place one by one. It was a skill Dad had made him practice tirelessly until he could do it half asleep, bleeding out, or even with a concussion. The last pin stuck in place; he turned the handle before withdrawing the tools. In a smooth motion, he rose to his feet and maneuvered his way through the open door. With his body only halfway through the doorway, another door further down the long hallway opened and produced a young woman in a purple shirt. Dean roughly pushed Sam away from the door and closed it behind himself, using his body to cover the window, and hoping his little brother understood why he had closed him out. He quickly shoved the loose tools into his front jacket pockets and wrapped himself in outward confidence as he strode through the hallway toward the woman. He passed a door on his left with the black and neon blue logo of the Dust Devil Derby Divas taped to it. There was a niche cut out of the hallway directly across from it with a set of closed double doors. He was next to the second door on the left, which had a picture of a flamingo labeled _NSOs_ taped to it, when the woman addressed him.

"Hey there! Ref or NSO?" she greeted. She wore black lipstick and had four purple streaks of paint across her face.

"Fan," he answered. She raised a black eyebrow to the black victory rolls in her neatly styled hair, accessorized with a big, purple bow detailed with black skulls. "I was just looking for a bathroom."

"Mmhmm," she sounded skeptical but didn't ask any questions. "These are the locker rooms, not bathrooms. Follow me." The third door he passed had a picture of a zebra labeled _Refs_ taped to it. The fourth door, the door through which the woman had come, had Plainview's purple and black logo taped to it. There was another niche with more double doors directly across from it. She gestured for him to follow her to the doors and opened one to reveal a large gymnasium.

Directly across from them, all along the wall, were bleachers, making it obvious why there were no windows on that side of the building. Lines on the floor and backboards attached to the ceiling indicated the primary use of the room was for basketball, but the backboards were pulled up to be out of the way, and there was an oblong track of bright orange tape over rope laid out for the skaters. One end of the track had six chairs in a line, the two in the center marked with stars, and four more chairs behind them. A rectangle was marked around the chairs with yellow and black striped tape. Dean recognized it as the penalty box.

On the opposite end of the track from the box was a DJ booth, the score-keeping table laden with electronics before a score board, and a line of tables to where women were carrying folding chairs. Individual tables held merchandise for each team, a vendor setting out skates, wheels, pads, and parts, and the rest of the tables were pushed together to display several raffle baskets which were still being arranged. At one end was a little red wagon stuffed with copious amounts of beer, wine, and liquor with a small sign that said, "Wagon Not Included."

The woman pointed to yet another set of double doors at the far end of the raffle tables. "Bathrooms are in the foyer, back where you paid to come in. Though the doors don't officially open for another forty-five minutes." She eyed his pockets where his hands were still hidden. "Be careful you don't remove your stamp when you wash your hands." She waited until he started walking. He glanced over his shoulder to see her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed under her breasts, staring him down. Dean knew she hadn't been fooled and was thankful she hadn't pressed the fact she knew he didn't come in through the front doors. He made sure his hands stayed hidden from her as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He texted Sam as he walked across the gym toward the foyer: _Front door._

No one questioned him as he slipped through the crush of people milling in and out of the doorways. Everyone seemed busy with their tasks, and he was just one more person walking empty-handed out the doors past people burdened with items and walking in. Sam met him in the small parking lot, and they both crossed the street and headed to the Impala.

"I figured you'd be in there longer," Sam observed.

"Eh, she wasn't my type." Dean was rewarded with a small smirk from his brother.

.oOo.

It only took a few minutes for Dean to fill Sam in on what he had seen inside. As he talked, they climbed back into the car to watch more cars arrive and fill the large parking lot with them while those across the street were emptied and closed up one by one then moved out of the tiny lot. Dean saw the lot was even smaller than he had first realized. The cars had taken up spaces that weren't actually marked on the asphalt.

As more cars arrived, more people poured from them. Dean eyed one swarm of people while they headed to the doors of the complex. Sam pointed, "There." In the midst of another group walked a tall blonde with braided pigtails. She wore a purple tank top and had a cube of a bag decorated with zebra stripes rolling behind her with the elongated handle grasped in one hand. She was talking with an equally tall man sporting a bushy brown beard and a zebra-striped bandana covering his head. He too had a bag; his was a gray duffel hanging from one shoulder.

"So many people," Dean murmured. "How are we gonna get her alone? We can't gank her in public."

"Whatever we do, it has to be before the bout ends and she decides who're the best skaters," Sam replied. Dean favored his brother's comment with a nod then checked his watch. He opened his door to get out of the car.

"At the very least, I wanna keep an eye on her," he said as Sam also emerged from the car and they closed the doors. The brothers joined a group of fans walking past the car. "I had no idea roller derby was this popular," Dean mused. One of the others in the group turned at his words.

"You're in Texas, man," he said brightly. "Birthplace of modern derby. 'Course it's popular!"

The brothers cut their eyes to each other, and Dean saw Sam was as much at a loss how to respond as he was.

.oOo.

Once inside, they quickly lost sight of Skuld when they were forced to wait in line to buy tickets while she and the bearded guy were greeted warmly and waved forward to sign in. They were ushered down a hallway past more purple-garbed women setting up a concessions booth. The way through was obviously closed to the common rabble.

Upon payment, instead of a paper ticket, they received stamps on the backs of their hands. Dean lifted his palm to his lips, displaying the large, black ink mustasche under his nose. "How do I look?" Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed a program before walking past him, heading toward the open doors leading from the foyer to the gym.

Now that it was filling with fans and skaters -and not just volunteers setting up- Dean realized how hushed it had been before. The crush of paid spectators herded them from the doors and closer to the bleachers then split around them to find seats as the two paused to take stock of the room.

"So where do you wanna sit?" Sam asked.

"Front and center, man. Look," Dean pointed. "It's not filled up yet."

"I'd be happy to escort you over there." A woman in a pink shirt who had just finished setting out water bottles by the benches next to the track approached. "But I see you ain't wearin' VIP wrist bands."

"VIP?"

"Yeah, that's the VIP section you're pointin' at. Pay a little more, and your concessions are carried out to you, and your trashed carried away, so you don't hafta miss any part of the bout. And, like you said, front and center. Best seats in the house."

"So we can go back in there," Dean threw a thumb over his shoulder at the foyer. "And pony up some more cash for it?"

"Sorry, but no," the NSO replied. "Those always get sold out at least a week before bout day. You can sit anywhere else, though. Oh, except for that other marked section next to VIP; that's reserved for our visitors puttin' on the halftime performance." She smiled apologetically before walking away.

"Front and center?" Sam asked. "You know we'd have a broader view of the room further up the bleachers, right?"

Dean stared at Sam, squinting slightly, trying to decide if Sam truly couldn't see what he saw. He couldn't, Dean decided. He reached up and put his hands on Sam's shoulders to turn him toward the track. "Sammy... tell me what you see."

"Roller skaters?"

"Sshhh... just look for a minute."

Sam did as he was bid. Plainview skaters were off to the side in a circle facing each other, working through a group stretch that put them all in kneeling lunges with their elbows on the floor. The visiting team, Dust Devil Derby Divas, were doing their pre-game warmup on the track itself. Four skaters were on each straightaway, one jammer fighting against three blockers, and as they reached the turn, they reset and rotated amongst other skaters waiting their turn inside the track.

" _Now_ tell me what you see."

"Varying degrees of skill," Sam replied. "Some of the skaters are a bit wobbly, still a little uncertain in the pack with other skaters. Some are like brick walls; nothing moves them unless they want to be moved."

Dean made a sound of irritation, but Sam plowed on, "Every body is different: different heights, different weights, different builds. But they're all strong in their own ways."

"And what _else_ do you see, smartass?"

The small huff of exhalation finally let Dean know Sam had deliberately been missing Dean's point just to mess with him. "Fishnets and short-shorts that you're equally likely to see in a strip club," he said, looking at the Dust Devils. Then he turned to Plainview, "And butts."

"Exactly."

"We're on a case," Sam reminded him as he stepped out of Dean's grip on his shoulders and led the way up the nearest set of stairs to the top of the bleachers.

"And? I can still enjoy the view while I'm working." He saw Sam shake his head, but his brother had no response.

At the top of the stairs was a sign taped to the wall stating "Standing Room Only – No Chairs." The walkway along the back of the top bleacher was certainly wide enough for chairs and foot traffic both. Sam made his way along, positioned himself less than ten feet away from the next set of stairs, and planted his feet to show he had claimed his standing room. Dean stopped next to him, and when he looked down at the floor, he saw that Sam had put them in line with turn one of the track. For seeing everything, he had to admit Sam had chosen a decent vantage point. He made a mental note that as they had climbed the stairs, the track had been vacated by the skaters, and both team benches were being filled, purple Plainview on one bench and neon blue Dust Devils on the other. From where he stood, he could easily make out the numbers on the backs of their jerseys, but he couldn't read any names.

"Should be getting close to first whistle, right?" Dean asked.

Sam glanced at his watch. "Few more min-"

"Good evenin' y'all!" A loud, exhuberant voice sounded through the speakers. A man wearing a garish outfit of tan cargo shorts and an olive green courdory jacket over a purple t-shirt strode toward the middle of the track with a cordless microphone in hand. He took himself to the inside boundary, halfway between the jam and pivot lines, and he raised his empty hand to command the crowd's attention to his position. "I'm your announcer, Purse Nickity; welcome to Plainview Roller Derby's bout against the Dust Devil Derby Divas!"

The crowd let out a roaring cheer and applause. The announcer let it go on for a few moments then spoke again, his tone sobering. "Before we get things started, I'd like to talk to y'all about the tragedy that struck last week. As most everyone knows by now, PRG suffered a devistating loss when..."

Dean allowed Purse's voice to wash over him and turn into a muted buzz in the back of his brain as he swept his gaze across the floor below. The skaters had all finished finding their seats on their respective benches, NSOs were all seated or standing in their proper locations, and all of the refs had clustered in the center of the track, off to one side. They stood quietly, respectfully giving Purse their attention. Skuld stood as one of the seven. Dean eyed the painted wing on the side of her helmet with a slight shake of his head. A valkyrie hiding in plain sight, not even trying to conceal who -what- she was; on the contrary, she might as well have been flaunting it. In a sport where everyone embraced alter egos, though, she was just one more person with a cool name.

"...if you would all bow your heads and join me in a moment of silence," Purse concluded. There was a slight shuffle through the crowd as they followed his lead. The only sounds were the odd cough or throat clearing. Dean dropped his chin a little also, but he kept his eyes open, still looking around. He shared a glance with Sam who also had his head tilted only slightly, not allowing any of his long hair to obscure his vision. There was nothing to see; everyone in the room was respecting the request of silence and holding still, including Skuld. "Thank you," Purse's voice seemed to release an audio dam. The room itself seemed to breathe, and muttered conversations started immediately. Before the sound could grow too loud, Purse took control again. "Please remove your hats; skaters, remove your helmets, and direct your attention to the flag."

Purse was walking toward the back of the room where two flags, one for the state of Texas, one for the United States, hung suspended from the ceiling with thick rope looped through their side grommets. Under the stripes of Old Glory stood a skinny guy in bright red pants and an unbuttoned white dress shirt over a brilliantly colored tie dye t-shirt. "Singing the National Anthem for us today is Alexander Lotsman of Amarillo A&M's acapella choir. They will also be providing our halftime entertainment." Purse handed over the microphone. Dean and Sam shared a glance as both of them put their right hands over their hearts along with everyone else in the room.

"Oh-hh, say can you see, by the _dawn's early light_ ," another voice joined Alexander's through the speakers, and Dean turned his head to and fro, one of many, looking for the other singer. "What so _proudly we hailed_ ," a third voice chimed in, splitting the note into a chord. As the song progressed, more and more voices joined, some singing the words, others adding hums and percussion. It turned out the extra voices were more members of the choir, scattered throughout the bleachers and holding their own microphones. It was astounding; Dean had never heard anything like it. "O'er the land of the free," the backup voices dropped their extra musical sounds and sang the lyrics with Alexander. The sound swelled and echoed off the gymnasium walls. "And the home of the brave."

The crowd exploded with applause, cheers, and whistles. The brothers added their own clapping. The choir members made their individual ways from throughout the bleachers to the section that had been marked off for them. Dean stretched upwards to put his mouth close enough to Sam's ear to be heard over the noise, "That was awesome." Sam nodded in agreement and leaned down to shout into Dean's ear.

"Better than being stuck in the car and listening to you singing along to your tunes."

Dean's grin faded, and he backed away slightly to see amusement bloom across Sam's face. "Nobody asked you."


	5. Chapter 5

After roll-outs, where the teams then the individual skaters were introduced, ten skaters took the track: eight in front of the jam line and two behind it. Sam allowed himself to relax a little. Skuld wouldn't be going anywhere for at least a half an hour; she would be rolling around the outside of the track, sizing up the skaters and calling penalties. He decided he would watch the bout with Dean and enjoy it for what it was.

An NSO with green bangs -and no other hair- took position at the jam line, whistle at the ready, stop watch in one hand. "Five seconds!" She lifted her empty hand then sliced it down. _Tweet!_ The jammers both slammed into the back of the pack, and it was on.

Sam found himself being allowed himself to get caught up in the ferver of the crowd, stirred by the talented announcing skills of one Purse Nickity. At first Sam was quiet, choosing to not cheer at all, and half keeping an eye on Skuld despite his initial resolve to just let her do her job as a ref for now. As each jam started and ended, though, and as points were added to the score board, the energy in the gym rose, taking Sam's with it. Dean had been cheering for Plainview from the beginning. He had reasoned to Sam that not only were they the home team, but Sam's girlfriend, Chocolate MILF, was down there playing. Sam had rolled his eyes at the "girlfriend" comment, and when his quip of, "Too bad _your_ girlfriend, Death Leppard, isn't playing too" was met with a twinkle in Dean's eye and a hearty agreement, Sam knew he would probably need to get his own hotel room tonight if all went well with the hunt.

The minutes ticked down, stopped by a few time outs, and sooner than it felt like it should have been, whistles were being blown to indicate halftime was upon them.

Purse waited until the skaters had snatched up their water bottles and were rolling toward the doors that led back to the hallway with the locker rooms before exhuberently introducing the Texas A&M accapella choir. The choir swarmed the track from their section in the bleachers. Sam saw that they were all wearing the same white shirt, tie dye, and red pants that Alexander had been wearing to sign the National Anthem. The refs also gathered their water bottles from the center of the track and filed out with the skaters. On foot instead of wheels, the NSOs were slower. After they cleared their equipment from the center of the track to make room for the choir, some went to the locker room, but most made their way to the benches to watch the halftime show. Through it all, Sam watched Skuld merge into the line of people rolling through one of the doors. When she disappeared, Dean's voice was at Sam's ear so as to be heard over the growing noise of so many people talking at once.

"How long is halftime?" he asked. Sam reached into his back pocket and pulled out the folded up program. He flipped through it and shook his head, but then he glanced over at the score board where the halftime clock was counting down. He pointed.

"Fifteen minutes."

"Thank you," a woman's voice said over the speakers. Sam redirected his attention to the track. The choir had set themselves up in a heart, and the person at the bottom tip was speaking. "Before we begin our full performance, we'd like to dedicate this first number to the friends and family the community lost over the week." A quiet hum took over the speakers through the tiny clip-on microphones, a haunting chord that swelled, shutting down conversations and demanding attention to the heart on the track. The hum died down, and a single voice took over.

"Well I heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord; but you don't really care for music, do ya?" People who had been leaving the stands -to buy raffle tickets, grab something from concessions, maybe use the bathroom- most of them stopped in their tracks to watch and listen. As the song progressed, more voices joined in, providing body to the tune. The hairs on Sam's arms stood at attention under the sleeves of his flannel shirt and coat.

On the last note, everyone standing in the heart slowly knelt, bowing their heads. Sam saw that quite a few of the spectators were either wiping tears from their eyes or letting them flow freely. The room was quiet for a few moments before the first person started to clap. More followed, and people shot to their feet to favor the choir with a standing ovation for the one song. No one cheered or whistled, just applause.

The choir members lifted to their feet, and the woman at the tip of the heart raised one hand, "Thank you." The applause died down. She pulled something from the pocket in her unbuttoned white dress shirt and put it to her mouth. A hum sang through it. A pitch pipe, Sam realized. The heart folded in on itself, forming two straight lines with all of the women in the front line. The vocal parts were split between some of them keeping a steady beat of "Ooh"s and the rest using "Ooh-aah"s as a melody. A smattering of giggles and snickers filled the audience. Sam appreciated the idea to lighten the mood, but he didn't know why this particular song -Ace of Base's _I Saw the Sign-_ would do it. He and Dean shared a confused look.

"Any idea why this is funny?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged. A blond guy standing in the row below them looked over his shoulder and fixed them with his brown eyes.

"It's from 'Pitch Perfect,'" he said. Sam was certain his blank look matched Dean's. "Nevermind; y'all obviously ain't seen it." He turned back around to watch the performance. The song shifted, prompting a few "yeah!'s from the stands. It sounded as though the halftime show would be a medley of several songs.

Sam nudged Dean. "Let's go down. We need to get to those doors before Skuld comes back through." Dean made a sound of agreement, and he led the way back to the stairs where they had come up.

They used perusal of the raffle baskets as an excuse to slowly make their way to the back of the room. Dean lingered at the booze wagon until Sam plucked his sleeve to get him moving again. "Thirty-seven bottles for a five dollar ticket," Dean said with a grin as Sam edged him further down the tables. "Makes you wanna try for it, huh?" They moved on from the raffles to the merch table. Sam kept glancing at the doors to the locker rooms while Dean flirted with the two young women sitting on the other side of the table. The door opened, allowing an NSO to slip into the gym. Sam left Dean's side, knowing his brother would follow. After a moment, as expected, Dean caught up with him.

"I'll take the far door," Sam said as he felt Dean at his shoulder. He looked down at his brother to see him nod.

.oOo.

As the clock showed around five minutes left of halftime, Dean positioned himself by the double doors through which they had seen Skuld and the rest of the refs and skaters go. Sam was beside the second set which led into the same hallway. Unless Skuld had reason to go through the back of the concessions booth or outside, she would have to come through next to one of the brothers. Moments after they took their places, the doors opened, and people filed through them. Plainview skaters streamed past Dean while Dust Devil skaters passed Sam. There were NSOs and refs going through both doors, but most of them seemed to be passing Dean. The flow included Skuld. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Hey, Skuld," he was almost startled to find he had to crane his head back to look up at her face, and he wondered briefly if she might be taller than him even without her skates on. "I have a question about a call you made in the first half."

"I don't really have time..."

"It'll be quick." She adopted a stern look. "Please?"

"Fine," she rolled out of the doorway to let others continue past her. "What is it?"

Dean was glad of the mini lessons he and Sam had given themselves in the hotel room. As he started talking, he thought he almost sounded like he knew what he was talking about. "Okay, so a Dust Devil blocker was straddling the line when a Plainview blocker knocked her out of bounds. You called it No Pass, No Penalty," he gave the hand motion of pointing a finger up on each hand and revolving one in front of the other.

"Yeah?" The file of skaters and officials had streamed past, and the door had closed behind Skuld.

"Okay, and then as the Dust Devil blocker came back on the track, the Plainview skater knocked her out again, but you called it an illegal procedure." Again, he gave the hand motion, this time rolling his two fists over each other in a circle. He continued, "Both times, the Dust Devil blocker was straddling the line. What was the difference?"

"Established position," Skuld began. Her words were cut off by applause. The singers had finished their performance. Skuld raised her voice to be heard over the noise. "When you straddle, your position before the first foot crosses the line is your established position."

"What?" Dean shouted in reply and leaned in, though he had heard her just fine. The applause died down as Purse started talking into his microphone.

"Let's hear it one more time for the Amarillo A&M acapella choir!" The crowd dutifully broke into yet another round of applause.

"I said, 'when you straddle-'"

"I can't-" Dean cupped a hand to his ear. Skuld groaned in frustration and started to skate away. "Wait," Dean stopped her.

"Before we get back to skating, let's give away some raffles!" Purse announced. "Get those tickets ready!"

"Can we just dip into the hallway?" Dean pointed back to the door. "Close out the noise for a sec?"

"Fine." Skuld led the way back through. Dean stole a glance to where Sam had been watching them from the other set of doors and discretely motioned for him to go through them before Dean followed Skuld and shut the door behind himself to mute Purse as he hyped the contents of the first raffle basket Apparently socks were exciting enough to raffle off. Skuld was standing near the outer corner of the niche with her hands on her hips when the door closed. Her back was to the hallway, so Dean stayed right there against the door to keep it that way.

"You were saying?" he prompted.

"In the No Pass, No Penalty situation, the Dust Devil blocker had been in bounds before her foot went out. She retained the 'in' position, so when Nerdherfer -the Plainview blocker- initiated contact, it was legal." Her annoyance with Dean seemed to be fading as she talked shop. These folks really got into their game.

Sam appeared in the hallway as Skuld spoke, a silent giant behind her. Dean couldn't be sure, but he was fairly certain Skuld stood taller than his brother in her skates. Sam opened the door to the ref locker room.

"So when she came back in bounds...?" Dean thought he knew the answer, but he needed to keep her talking, get her focus to stay on what she was saying and not on the large man creeping up behind her.

"Same rule applies. She started out of bounds and retained that position while one only skate was in, so the contact from Nerdherfer was illegal."

"I guess penalties keep them safe from your selection later, huh?"

"What?"

Sam's long arms wrapped around Skuld's midsection, and he yanked her up and backwards so quickly her only reaction was a yip of surprise. Dean closed the distance between himself and the open door Sam was pulling Skuld through. He gave a swift glance up and down the empty hall and closed the door on what little sound was still coming from the gymnasium. He snapped the lock in place and turned, drawing Ruby's knife from his jacket. If it was good enough for demons, hopefully it was good enough for a valkyrie.

By then, Skuld had begun to struggle against Sam. He had failed to secure her left arm, and he paid for his mistake when the smooth, plastic cap of her elbow pad connected with the side of his head, causing his eyes to pop. The impact was enough to loosen his grip; Skuld's wheels hit the floor with an audible click. She was immediately stable. Bending her knees and dropping her hips, she slammed her left shoulder backwards to catch Sam under his sternum. He stumbled back, clearly having gotten the wind knocked from his lungs.

Skuld used the motion to pivot on one foot and push off sideways, triangulating herself with the brothers' locations in the locker room. She remained in a partial squat as she eyed first Sam then Dean. The overhead light caught the painted wing on one side of her helmet as she turned her head, causing it to shine.

"Pretty fancy for a ref," Dean said as Sam caught his breath.

"I train with the skaters," Skuld replied warily.

"Ref, skater, and valkyrie. Ain't you well-rounded?"

Skuld narrowed her eyes. "Who the blazes are you?" she demanded.

"We're the ones who're here to stop you," Dean declared.

"Ha!" Skuld jerked her chin up in defiance, "You can't stop me from doing my job. It pleases Odin to have these women; they are warriors."

"Warriors?" Sam finally had his breathing under control. "You want real warriors, go find an actual war and pick from those spoils."

"Wars are no longer fought with the dedicated," Skuld argued. "Out there, I find little more than scared boys who are not even fighting for what they believe in. They are half trained, given weapons, and told to kill or be killed. They don't want to be there; they only wanted a paycheck. These women, they want to be here, they _pay_ to be here, waging battle."

"Yeah, here," Sam countered. "They want to be _here._ Roller derby is the battle they love, not the crap you're forcing on them."

"Crap? Being chosen to fight for Odin is an honor on the field of Vígríðr!"

"Yeah, well, being ganked by a Winchester is an honor here," Dean said. He spun the handle of the knife against the palm of his hand, turning the blade to point down instead of up and advanced upon Skuld where she stood in her skates. He raised the knife to stab down into her chest, readying his next move mentally. Most people raise their hands in defense and try to grab the knife arm. He quickly learned Skuld was not most people. She ducked and pushed off with her wheels, not defending herself at all but dipping herself around him completely. Her long leg wrapped around behind his before he could reorient himself, and she spun to push his back with the hard plastic heels of her wrist guards. Dean stumbled forward into the lockers against one wall. When he whipped himself back around to face her, she was already toe to toe with Sam.

Some few of Sam's punches were being deflected, but Skuld stopped everything cold when she shouted, "Enough of this!" Suddenly Sam's eyes unfocused, and he staggered, arms falling limp.

"No!" Dean shouted. He lunged at Skuld and drove the point of Ruby's knife into her back, surely puncturing a lung. Skuld's scream started as human then morphed into what might have been the screech of a bird of prey, loud enough to rattle the metal doors of the lockers lining the walls of the room. Sam dropped to the floor, sitting heavily against a row of lockers. Skuld sagged back into Dean's arms. Her scream had turned into bubbled laughter.

"My sisters will find you," she whispered thickly through a mouthful of blood as Dean withdrew the knife and let her drop to the floor. "They will have their vengence."

"I'll be waiting," Dean replied. He left her on the floor to die and hurried to Sam. "Sammy? You okay? Talk to me." Sam's breathing was shallow, and he had slumped sideways. Dean tucked the blood-covered knife back into his jacket to use both hands to pull Sam to sit upright again.

"I... I think I was dying," Sam rasped. "I saw... a burning rainbow." He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Burning rainbow? Come on, brother. Let's get you up." Dean balled his fists into the front of Sam's shirt and jacket and hefted the larger man to his feet. Sam staggered for a moment before getting his weight evenly settled.

"I'm okay." Sam took a step away from Dean to prove his steadiness. His eyes were on the body Dean had abandoned on the floor.

.oOo.

All this time, after angels and demons, Heaven and Hell, Sam had known where he was going when he died. And it wasn't being pulled into Asgard over the _Bifröst._ He looked down at the valkyrie who had almost claimed him for Odin. He wondered if she knew they had already met. Sam Winchester was not on Odin's list of friends.

They still had to get rid of her. He opened his mouth to say as much to Dean when a brilliant flash of white light overpowered the room. He threw his arms over his face to block it out, and it faded on its own. When Sam lowered his arms -and he noticed Dean had done the same- there was a white light-lined opening spanning the room. Through it stepped two more tall, blonde women who looked strikingly like Skuld. They were strong, beautiful, and they both carried anger on their faces.

Dean shifted his stance and slid his hand into his jacket, no doubt to wrap his fingers around the hilt of Ruby's knife. Sam also readied himself for conflict, hoping he was up to it after what had just happened to him. He still felt slightly unsteady, despite having told Dean he was fine.

"You have stopped Skuld from her foolish crusade," one said, allowing her eyes to bounce between the brothers. Sam was taken aback by her comment.

"Uh," Dean glanced at Sam before answering. "Yeah."

"You have our thanks," the other said. "I am Urör; this is my sister Veröandi."

"You're Norns," Sam said.

"Yes," Urör replied. "As was our sister, Skuld. I am what you in Midgard would call 'fate;' Veröandi is 'present,' and Skuld is... was 'future.' She fancied herself a pioneer in new ideas of gathering warriors for Odin, using her very name to excuse her extreme behavior, and claiming her way was for the future." She looked down at Skuld with what might have been sadness overpowering her anger. "Many of us wished for her to stop, but none truly wanted her dead over it." She looked at the brothers again. "I see now that was the only way." As she talked, Veröandi gathered Skuld into her arms, cradling her easily against her chest.

"Siblings, right?" Dean quipped with a crooked grin that was wiped away quickly when two pairs of piercing blue eyes whipped toward him. Sam cringed inwardly on Dean's behalf. Sometimes his brother really didn't know when to shut up.

"We're sorry we had to kill her," Sam offered softly. The eyes were pulled from Dean to him.

"Think nothing of it," Urör said. "You have done Asgard a service, sad though it may be." With that, she motioned to Veröandi and stepped back to the glowing opening behind them. As they left, Sam saw the Bifröst -the burning rainbow bridge- beyond them.

"The bridge to Asgard," he said.

"Pray you never see it again, Midgardian," Urör replied just as the portal winked shut.

.oOo.

The brothers let themselves outside through the door at the end of the hallway after cleaning up and were walking back to the parking lot while the last few people who had stepped out for cigarettes during halftime were shuffling through the front doors. As Dean had said, "A little bit of blood is way easier to take care of than a whole body."

They paused on their respective sides of the Impala, both leaning forearms on the top to face each other. "So I'm thinking," Sam began.

"You wanna stay, don't you?" Dean answered.

"Well yeah. The Norns took the body, so there's nothing causing us to have to rush off," Sam said. "And I kinda want to see who's going to win."

Dean nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "Yeah, I'm sure that's all you want to see."

"Shut up. So we're going back in?"

"Might as well." They started walking toward the building again. "Oh hey, Sammy. About sleeping arrangements tonight."

"I'm keeping the room. You and Death Leppard can find your own."

"Bitch."

"Yep."


End file.
